Hard Hart: The Harty Boys, Book 1

by Cox, Whitley

  Brock found a parking spot, pulled in and turned off the truck, shifting around in his seat to face her. “I’m here because you’re here. I’m here for you. Now, let’s go.”

  * * *

  Brock fucking hated parties. And a party where he didn’t know a soul and wanted to kick the living shit out of a cop in attendance was certainly not high up on his list either. His hand fell to the small of Krista’s back, and he instantly felt calmer. Feeling her beneath his palm, no matter how slight, grounded him.

  It also scared him.

  Since the moment that little thump thump heartbeat had echoed around the small ultrasound room, Brock felt differently around Krista. His protective instinct was all-consuming, for both her and the baby, but he was also feeling other things. He loved the fact that she liked his cooking. He’d never cooked for anybody but himself before, and although he liked what he made, he was nervous if other people would too. But Krista devoured everything he made, humming contentedly to herself and closing her eyes with a sultry little tilt to her lips as she ate his creations. Some days he’d pull her laundry out of the dryer and catch himself smiling at the brightly colored socks with animal prints that fell out. She definitely had a thing for cats.

  More than anything, though, it was the way she’d clung to him. Thrown herself into his arms when he’d barely made it to the top of stairs and cried on his chest. She’d needed him. Needed his comfort. Nobody had ever come to Brock for comfort. They came to him for a solution, to fix things or take care of a problem, but never just for comfort.

  He reached for her hand.

  She glanced up at him, her lips parting just so and her beautiful blue eyes twinkling.

  They made their way up the stairs to the ballroom, where red, white and gold assaulted his eyeballs and the shrill chime of poorly selected Christmas music blasted over the stereo system.

  A fat fake Christmas tree sat poised in one corner with enormous red and gold bows tied all over it, while frosted snow pictures had been craftily sketched onto all the surrounding windows, and garland and icicles hung from every imaginable ledge or surface. It looked like an elf had gotten food poisoning and projectile-vomited over the entire room.

  “You came!” an attractive brunette cheered, tottering up to Krista on her flashy gold stilettos, her red dress accentuating killer curves like nobody’s business. The two women hugged, the brunette towering over Krista, who had smartly decided to go with her flat gray ankle boots. The same ones she’d tossed at Brock’s skull not an hour earlier.

  “Yeah … ” Krista sighed. “I came. Not sure how long I’ll stay, though. Still not feeling great.” The other woman’s eyes suddenly flew up to Brock’s face and then back to Krista and then Brock again.

  A thousand questions asked in half a second with just one look and a lone raised eyebrow.

  Krista coughed and moved back into Brock’s hand. He gently wrapped it around her slender waist and cupped her hip. How in the world this woman thought she was gaining weight already was beyond him. She still felt fucking perfect.

  “I, uh … Allie, this is Brock, my … friend,” Krista finally said.

  Brock snorted. She elbowed him.

  Glancing up at him with a glare and mouthing “be cool” she continued to introduce them. “Brock, this is my friend and co-worker, Allie.”

  He held out his hand, and the two made the customary pleasantries, though Brock could see and practically hear the cogs of curiosity spinning like a squeaky hamster wheel inside Allie’s head. She wanted to know every bit of juicy gossip surrounding Krista and her mystery date.

  Krista left his embrace and stepped forward to join Allie. The two looped arms, and like a reluctant puppy, Brock followed behind, his eyes surveying the scene to see if he could spot that Myles fucker.

  They were seated with Allie and Violet, and a few other of Krista’s colleagues, most of them civilian workers. Brock hadn’t said more than two sentences in the last hour, but he was completely fine with that. Chit-chat was overrated, and he wasn’t there to make friends. He was there to protect Krista and get some intel on Slade.

  Sure, Chase’s hacking and Rex’s patrol had proven fruitful, but there was nothing like seeing the monster in the flesh, watching him in action and getting a real feel for the creep. Brock was just glad Slade was no longer Krista’s mentor. But that didn’t mean the scumbag was off the hook.

  They were just finishing up dinner when Krista suddenly inhaled mid-sip of her water and began to cough. Wanting to help his date, he started to pound on her back, but his eyes also followed hers.

  Krista’s coughing began to ebb, but not before the man she’d been watching swung his head in their direction and his eyes zeroed in on Krista. Then they landed in on Brock and nearly doubled in size.

  Was this Slade?

  It had to be.

  Brock was only half listening to Krista’s friend while the other half of him continued to watch Myles. He was up to something, Brock was sure of it.

  Krista’s eyes followed Slade, too, though not nearly as intensely as Brock’s. She still answered Allie and laughed on cue. Brock couldn’t give two shits if Allie had just told the funniest joke of the century; his focus was Slade.

  Whether he was ignoring Brock or had legitimately lost interest, Myles turned his back and began chatting up a pretty, very young woman at the bar. The woman looked no more than twenty-one, if she was that. Blonde with big doe eyes and an innocent smile. Too young to be a cop for sure. Maybe a civilian worker? Someone’s date?

  Her dark red dress left very little to the imagination, and the way she was laughing and giggling at everything Myles said told Brock she was Slade’s target for the evening. He couldn’t have Krista, so he was moving on to other prospects. Brock only hoped this prospect was willing and not forced or coerced.

  Krista’s hand linked with Brock’s beneath the table, and she gave it a gentle squeeze. He squeezed it back, and she gasped beside him.

  “Too hard,” she whispered.

  Damn it. He was tightly wound.

  He glanced down into her eyes. “Sorry.”

  His eyes swiveled back to Slade and the young woman. He watched as she ordered a drink from the bartender, then excused herself to the ladies’ room, leaving her beverage under the watchful eyes of Senior Constable Myles Slade.

  And then it happened.

  As inconspicuous as could be, but not nearly as stealthy as he probably hoped, Myles dropped something into her drink, quickly grabbed a stir-stick from the back and began swirling it around with the ice cubes until the tablet dissolved.

  “Did he just … ” Krista started.

  He did.

  Brock was up and halfway across the room, stalking toward Slade like a bull after a red cape. Steam rushed from his ears as tunnel vision set in. Slade was in for a world of hurt.

  Krista was by his side seconds later just as he came up nearly nose-to-nose with Slade.

  “What did I just see you put in that girl’s drink?” Brock asked, the threads of his self-control snapping as he took in the smarmy look on Myles’s face and was forced to inhale that disgusting cologne he’d apparently bathed in before he came.

  Myles rolled his eyes. The man appeared bored, but the tightening of his jaw told Brock otherwise. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, dude. I didn’t do anything. Mind your own business.”

  Brock snorted. He could hear his pulse thundering in his ears. A soft, gentle hand rested on his arm, and instinctively, his muscles bunched and tightened.

  Myles’s eyes followed the hand before his gaze flew back up to Krista. “Are you with this muscle-bound moron, Matthews?”

  Krista went to open her mouth, no doubt to try to diffuse the situation, but Brock cut her off. “She is. And I’ve seen the marks on her arms from your … interests. Leave her alone or you’ll answer to me.”

  Myles puffed up his chest and took a step forward. “Are you threatening me? Are you threatening an officer of t
he law in front of other officers of the law? At our Christmas party?”

  Brock’s eyes shifted just slightly.

  Fuck.

  He’d forgotten for the briefest of moments where he was and who he was surrounded by. Myles noticed the change and sneered. “You’re just a big dummy. Really, Matthews? I thought you’d go for someone with more brains than this ox.”

  Brock’s fists bunched at his sides, and red clouded his vision. Cop or no cop, this fucker was going to pay. One day.

  The young woman with the now drugged drink returned, equal parts fear and curiosity on her heart-shaped face. Krista grabbed her drink and then dumped it into Myles’s half-full glass.

  Damn, his woman had balls.

  Did he just call her his woman?

  “You might want to watch your beverages around this guy, Ingrid. He’s having a hard time getting laid without a little help these days.” She shot Myles a smug look before stepping in front of Brock. Could she feel his need to punch, kick and maim? Probably. He wasn’t exactly practicing his poker face. “You going to drink your scotch now, Myles?” she asked.

  Brock wanted to move Krista behind him to protect her and the baby, but the stubborn woman wouldn’t budge.

  Myles’s cheeks were on fire. They had him.

  Brock felt Krista shiver in front of him. He immediately placed his hands on her shoulders to ground her—to ground himself. Myles just continued to glare at her, his eyes growing fiercer and darker. They knew, and he knew they knew, that this was not his first date-rape attempt.

  But Myles Slade wasn’t going to go down without a fight. Call it pride, arrogance, smugness or the true disgusting belief that he didn’t think he was doing anything wrong, the man was going to deny it.

  His Adam’s apple bobbed twice in his throat before he threw his shoulders back and adopted a cocky smirk. “I don’t know what you saw, Matthews, but I didn’t put anything in Ingrid’s drink.” Then with a feigned look of boredom and confidence, he picked up his glass and took the smallest of sips. Ingrid, the little civilian worker, had remained quiet and confused during it all and didn’t seem to relax in the slightest when she saw Myles drink. She smelled it, too. The guy was garbage.

  “Go find Helen and Cindy,” Krista said quietly, resting her hand on Ingrid’s arm. “They’re sitting over at our table with Allie and her wife.” With fear in her big brown eyes, the young woman nodded and scurried away.

  Krista turned around and rested her hands on Brock’s chest. Her scent filled his nostrils, and his body immediately calmed. She motioned for him to take a step back, but he didn’t move a muscle, not when his woman, his child were still within arm’s reach of Slade.

  “Brock,” she said through clenched teeth, “let’s not make a scene. We should probably just go home.”

  “You stay the fuck away from Krista, you got that?” Brock said through his own clenched teeth, his voice a breath above a whisper.

  Myles’s mouth drew up into a sinister grin. “Let’s not forget who has the law on their side. You come within ten feet of me, and I’ll shoot your fucking face off and get away with it … you got that?”

  Brock stomped and motioned to lunge at Myles, his arms coming up as though he was ready to start swinging.

  Krista pushed against Brock’s chest, determined to get him to move. “Just stop!”

  Myles chuckled. “Fucking Neanderthal … ”

  Brock’s entire body was in flames.

  But before he could do anything, Krista was spinning back around, her finger right up in Slade’s face. Brock could barely hear her over the thrumming of his own pulse, but he did.

  “We’re on to you, Myles. And we’re coming for you. I’m sure Ingrid wasn’t your first, and she definitely won’t be your last, you sad, desperate prick. Watch your back, because you’re mine.”

  Slade’s pupils dilated, and his pallor slowly changed to a greyish green as her threat sank in.

  “You are a disgusting piece of shit, and if I find out you’ve drugged other girls, I will take you down.”

  Her shoulders were high, and her ribcage expanded rapidly. She was just as tightly wound as Brock. They needed to get out of there before one or both of them took a swing at Myles. Then shit would really hit the fan.

  Blinking once, twice, three times and shaking loose the homicidal feeling inside of him, Brock grabbed Krista’s elbow. The woman vibrated.

  No longer with concrete in his feet, he ushered them both to the door. Her elbow was on fire in his touch, and the way her nostrils flared told Brock that this woman was seconds away from blowing. He had to get her out of there.

  The truck door slammed shut, and on instinct, Brock hit the lock button. He’d gone through loads of training on bringing his heart rate back to rest within seconds and switching his focus from one target to another. He was already calm, cool and collected again. The same could not be said for his date. The woman was like a jungle cat who’d just chased an antelope through the savannah for an hour. Her chest heaved, a sexy vein along her delicate neck pulsed, and the way she bunched her fists made her knuckles glow a bright white in the darkness of the truck. She was wound as tight as a top.

  Brock did the only thing he could do. He hauled her petite frame across the center console and into his lap, holding her, absorbing her anger and letting each shake and tremble of her muscles flow into him and disappear. She didn’t say anything, didn’t even really acknowledge where she was or that she was in his lap, she simply stared out into darkness of the trees and shrubs and trembled in his arms.

  He willed her to calm down, to settle. He ran his hand down her back and murmured shushes and other reassurances.

  He could only imagine how she felt right now. Probably much like he did. It was never a thrill, never a good or empowering feeling standing up to a bully like Slade, threatening them and letting them know you were on to them.

  And yet, he probably would have done the same thing. They couldn’t just let Slade get away with it, let him drug that poor woman or any other woman for that matter. The man was scum and deserved to be treated as such.

  “What can I do?” he asked softly, weaving his hands gently into the hair at the nape of her neck and lightly turning her head to face him.

  She blinked a few times as if not really seeing him, her blue eyes dark and more pupil than iris.

  Her lip wobbled. “I hate him.”

  “Me too.”

  “This doesn’t feel good.”

  “I know it doesn’t.”

  “Instead it feels as though I have opened up this giant can of flesh-eating worms and they’re getting ready to wriggle and squirm their way into everyone’s lives, destroying and demolishing souls and bodies as they go.”

  Well, that was graphic.

  She shivered in his arms. He felt gooseflesh rise across her skin.

  Shit, they’d left so abruptly, they’d forgotten to grab their coats. The truck was freezing. Her teeth quickly began to chatter. He had to get her warm. Get her home.

  Delicately, he lifted her from his lap and placed her back on the bench seat, then started the truck and swung it around to the front of the resort. He rolled down his window and called the waiting valet over.

  The young man was more than eager to oblige and was back in seconds with both their coats. Brock thanked the kid with a tip and handed Krista not only her own jacket but Brock’s as well. Then he rolled up the window, cranked the heat and peeled out of the resort.

  They were silent for the rest of the ride home, both of them exhausted from the altercation but also digging deep into their own souls. Myles had hit all kinds of nerves and stirred all kinds of feelings. And one of those feelings had certainly been fear.

  It didn’t matter that Slade was no longer Krista’s coach; this monster worked with her. Worked with the mother of Brock’s child. At any point in the day, she could be cornered by him, alone with him, assaulted by him—again. And although Brock knew she was a ballsy little thing a
nd could hold her own, Slade had proven tonight that he had no respect for the law … or women. And Krista had poked the rapey bear, letting him know they were on to him. Slade was a problem.

  He pulled into the driveway a short while later, but neither of them moved to get out. They just sat there, eyes focused on the front of the stark white garage door.

  “I wanted to kill him,” Brock said finally.

  “I know,” she whispered.

  “You can’t keep doing this, Krista. You can’t keep doing this to me.”

  Slowly, dramatically, she swiveled her head until she was staring at him. “What do you mean, I can’t keep doing this? I went on light duty just like you asked. But I’m not going to stop being a cop. This is my job.”

  “I know, but Slade is dangerous.”

  “You don’t think I know that?”

  An exasperated sigh escaped him, and he finally let the heavy weight he’d been carrying on his shoulders all night slip off. His body crumpled in his seat. “I don’t think you realize how close I came to putting my fist in his face tonight. To making it so the guy would never walk again. And I would have … for you. I would have … for our baby. Consequences be damned.” He shook his head. “The fact that you work with … so close with a guy like that, who has no qualms about abusing the law, hurting you, drugging women … ” He trailed off. He pivoted to face her. “You’re killing me here.”

  “What do you want me to do? Quit?” she asked, a mite of fear in her tone.

  He blinked but slowly shook his head. No, she’d hate him if he made her do that. Resent him, possibly resent the baby. “Start thinking about more than just your job. Start thinking about you, about our baby … about me. You’re being reckless. Irresponsible. You never should have threatened him like that. Now he knows we’re on to him. Now he knows we’re coming for him. What’s to stop him from going on the offensive and coming after you first?” His chest expanded as he took in a deep and grounding breath. “I don’t want anything to happen to you because you went all vigilante and tried to nail this guy to the wall. You have bigger things to consider now. Other people counting on you. I can’t be the only responsible person raising this child. I can’t be the only person raising this child because you took matters into your own hands.”